Wheels of Fire
by Draconis Domini
Summary: AU pre-series through series 1. Six months after Sam goes to Stanford Dean is seriously injured while on a hunt and forced out of hunting. The brothers and friends deal with Dean's injury and have some new adventures, but you can't escape destiny forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I don't own Supernatural or the characters from the show, only any original characters are my own.

 **Author Note** : I'm British and so use British spelling and grammar, however I have lived in the US and Canada for 4 years now so sometimes my noun usage is a little erratic. Since Supernatural is set in the US I'm trying to use common American nouns where I know what they are, e.g. although I'm British I find it jarring to see Sam and Dean using 'Mum' instead of 'Mom', but less common things I will probably slip into British English. If something is particularly glaring, do let me know. Also this is the first fan fiction that I've published so feedback is much appreciated!

 **Summary** : AU pre-series through series 1. Six months after Sam goes to Stanford Dean is seriously injured while on a hunt and forced out of hunting. The brothers and friends deal with Dean's injury and have some new adventures, but you can't escape destiny forever.

* * *

He was just tossing the matches down into the grave when the spirit managed to get the drop on him and sent him flying backwards into a tree with a loud crunch. His head hit a root as he fell to the ground and everything went black. When he opened his eyes again he could see the light from a few last guttering flames dancing in the grave, which was now a good fifty feet away. He sighed in relief, that was good, it meant the spirit wasn't going to be throwing him around anymore, and that he hadn't been out for too long. Hopefully that meant he wouldn't have too bad a concussion. His back hurt, and so did his head, but given that he'd just been thrown into a tree and knocked unconscious that wasn't exactly surprising.

Satisfied, he moved to push himself up on his elbows, but an incredible, searing pain like someone stabbing him with a dozen burning knives shot through his back and he collapsed back down again, swearing through his teeth. He lay there for a few moments, bracing himself to try it again when a realisation came to him like ice down the back of his neck. He couldn't feel his legs. Very cautiously he levered himself up slightly so that he could look down his body. He could see both of his feet. There was nothing lying on his legs and they looked completely fine, but no matter how much he willed it he couldn't make his toes so much as twitch.

He laid himself back down again and tried to fight down the panic rising in his throat. This was bad, this was very, very bad. However much he hated hospitals there was no way he was going to get of it this time. He winced when he thought back to the crunching sound he had heard when he hit the tree, that must have been his back, not the tree. He checked his phone and he had reception, but he couldn't just dial 911, there would be some very pointed questions about the open grave and charred bones, not to mention the shotgun full of rock salt and the gas can that must be lying around here somewhere. He needed to call someone else to clean up first. There was only really one choice, he knew that, though he didn't like it. Bobby was two day's drive away. Dad was closer, but still probably a full day's drive and he was on a hunt of his own at the moment. Pastor Jim was on the other side of the country, as were Josh and Caleb. He sighed, picked up his phone and dialled the number.

It rang for a good 30 seconds before they finally picked up, and he said, as lightly as he could, "Hey Sammy, it's Dean."

"Dean?" came the groggy response, "It's nearly 2 in the morning."

Trust Sam to state the blindingly obvious, but then he never did like having his beauty sleep interrupted. He could almost hear Sam rubbing his face with the hand not holding the phone to try and wake himself up.

"I know Sam, I wouldn't be calling if I had a choice."

"Dean, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Where's Dad?"

"I'm fine Sammy," Dean said automatically, and then kicked himself, or at least would have if he could move his legs, ha ha. He sighed and tried again. "Ok, that's not quite true, but I'm not in danger of dying or anything. Dad's on a hunt of his own and you're closer so I called you first."

"What happened? Are you in danger?"

"It was a simple salt and burn. I got the bastard, but it threw me into a tree just as I was lighting up the bones, and now I'm stuck."

"Stuck? Did the tree fall on you?"

"No, I, ah," some part of him really didn't want to say it, as if saying it would make it more true.

"Dean?" He could hear the worry starting to build in Sam's voice, and that just made it worse.

"I, it's my back, I think, I think it's broken." As much as he had been trying to keep his voice level he couldn't help some of the despair showing through when he spoke the words.

"Oh shit, Dean."

"Yeah, so I need you to come and help me."

"Dean, of course I'll come, but if your back's busted you need a hospital, I can't help you with that."

Dean couldn't help rolling his eyes. "I know Einstein, but I think the EMTs might get a little suspicious of the open grave and the shotgun full of rock salt and I'm not in a position to do much about that."

"Alright," Sam said, chastened, "where are you?"

"A little way Northwest of Redding, grab some paper and I'll give you directions."

Dean could hear the pen scratching as he gave Sam the directions to the little cemetery. "Ok, it should take me about 5 hours to get to you, I'll have to borrow Nick's car. Will you be ok 'til I get there?"

"Nick?"

"My roommate"

"You don't have a car?"

"When was I supposed to get the money to buy a car, Dean? Anyway, it isn't really necessary here."

"And this is why you don't have a girlfriend."

"Dean." The eye-roll was almost audible. "Will you be ok 'til I get there?"

"Fine, yeah, I'll be fine. It's actually quite a nice night to do nothing but lie on your back staring at the stars for 5 hours."

"Ok, I'll be there as fast as I can, Dean."

Sam hung up and Dean settled himself in to wait for him. He hadn't been being completely facetious when he'd said that it was a nice night to lie back and watch the stars, it was unseasonably warm so he didn't have to worry about getting too cold, and the sky was completely clear. It wasn't the same without Sam and Baby, but at least it was peaceful. There was very little wind so the trees were almost completely silent, there was just the occasional sound of a far-off owl and some faint night time insects, the kind of animal noises that told you that everything was probably fine with no supernatural nasties going to jump you. Anyway, if he was going to be stuck here he might as well try to make himself comfortable and maybe enjoy it a little.

At some point he must have fallen asleep despite the aches in his back and head – or possibly because of them, maybe his concussion was worse than he'd thought – but he was roused by the sound of voices further off in the cemetery. He glanced over in the direction the voices seemed to be coming from and saw flashlight beams playing over the headstones, creating eerie shadows that flickered across the ground. He braced himself in case they came over here and found him, not that there was much he could do other than smile at them sweetly and hope they took pity on him, or try and keep them talking until Sam got here. He checked his watch, it was 6:23, Sam should be here fairly soon he hoped.

The voices gradually came closer, and then he heard his name called out. It sounded like Sam, but who else would be here with Sam? He kept quiet for a few more minutes, but as the voices got closer it became more and more clear that it was definitely Sam. Ah what the hell, he'd find out soon enough anyway.

"Sammy! I'm over here!"

Sam and whoever was with him clearly heard him shout and came running over. Not that he got to actually see them, given that Sam decided to shine his flashlight right in Dean's face.

"Jeez! What are you, trying to blind me?"

"Oh, sorry Dean."

Sam moved the beam off his face and then knelt down next to him and did something with the flashlight such that it became a lantern. That was actually kind of useful, he could do with something like that on hunts, well or he would have done if he were ever going to be hunting again. Dean closed off that thought before it could go any further. Anyway, the most important thing was that now he could see both Sam and whoever the other guy standing over them was.

"God Dean, how did you manage to get yourself into this mess? Does it hurt? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

"Aside from not being able to move my legs I'm just peachy," Dean brushed him off. His back didn't in fact hurt as much as he thought it should, at least as long as he didn't try to move, and no way was he doing that again. The relative lack of pain actually worried him even more. Anyway, he also wanted to know who the skinny kid with the mop of dark hair was that was with Sam. He looked to be about the same age as his brother so he guessed a college friend.

"So, who's you're friend, Sam?"

"Oh, um, this is my roommate Nick." Sam glanced away and scratched the back of his neck.

"You brought your roommate with you?"

"The phone call woke him up, and it was the only way he'd agree for me to use the car."

Dean rolled his eyes. That was all very well, but now how were they going to deal with filling in the grave with a civilian around?

"Look, Dean, arguing with him was getting nowhere, he's almost as stubborn as you are and I couldn't waste time when I was supposed to be getting here to help you. What did you want me to do, knock my friend unconscious and steal his car?," Sam said accusingly, "Besides I've spent the last four and half hours trying to explain what our family does to him."

Dean just stared at him again, then looked back at Nick and raised an eyebrow.

"Look, I'm not sure I believe any of this, but I guess at least you weren't lying about being hurt. You really can't move huh?"

"No, I just figured that it was such a nice night that I had nothing better to do than lie on my back in a cemetery for hours waiting for my little brother to show up."

"Alright," Nick held up his hands, "No need for the sarcasm."

"Where's the grave?" Sam asked. He was still shooting concerned looks in Dean's direction, but seemed satisfied that he wasn't at death's door at least.

"About fifty feet over in that direction." Dean waved his hand in the direction he'd been thrown from, and Nick swung the beam of his flashlight over, catching the mound of dirt at the side of it.

"Oh, you, um, really weren't kidding about that huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes again. It seemed to be getting to be a persistent thing, but then being stuck on the ground there wasn't much else he could do.

"No, and you and Sam need to fill it in before we can call an ambulance and get me out of here."

"Come on, Nick," Sam encouraged, gesturing him over, "Anything at the bottom will be pretty much charred beyond recognition now so you don't have to worry about seeing anything gross."

Slightly reluctantly Nick followed Sam over to the graveside and took the shovel when Sam offered it to him, helping to fill the grave back in. It didn't take too long with the two of them, but by the time they were done a faint glow was creeping into the horizon.

"Whew, I can see why you told me to bring a clean shirt," Nick huffed as he sat down near Dean after they had finished tidying up the grave and doing their best to make it look like it hadn't just been freshly filled, "I guess this is why you're in such good shape, huh?"

"Well, I haven't done this in a while, but yeah I guess it helped," agreed Sam, "Not that I think I'd recommend grave digging as a fitness activity unless you want people to question your sanity. Even amongst people who do this kind of thing I think you'd get some funny looks."

Nick snorted at that and watched as Sam wandered off to gather up the shotgun, gas can and anything else that needed to be tidied away.

"Why are you here, Nick?" Dean asked the back of Sam's friend, taking the opportunity of Sam being out of earshot.

Nick looked over his shoulder at Dean and then back over at Sam. "He misses you, y'know."

"That doesn't explain why you're here."

Nick turned around more fully so he could look at Dean properly. "Because Sam's my friend, and I didn't want him to kill himself driving like a maniac to get here and rescue you, especially not in my car," he paused and glanced over at Sam again, before turning back and adding, "He was really freaked when you called, I don't think I've ever seen him so worried before."

Now Dean looked over at Sam again. It had been almost 6 months since that final terrible fight when Sam had walked out. He had tried to resist the urge to call Sam, to make Sam call him first, but after a couple of months it had got the better of him. They'd talked every so often since then, but not that frequently and Sam had always seemed a bit distant. He'd known it was Dad not him that Sam really wanted to get away from, but he also knew that he reminded Sam too much of Dad and hunting, which he assumed translated into wanting to get away from him too. Now maybe he wasn't so sure.

"Sammy really misses me?"

"Yeah," Nick smiled down at him, "So, you're the infamous Dean Winchester, huh?"

"He talks about me?"

"Not that much, but in unguarded moments sometimes he'll share some little anecdote about you, usually from when you were little kids."

"How can you be so sure he misses me now and not just how we were when we were little kids?"

Nick looked back down into Dean's puzzled face. "Because I don't think I can remember him ever saying anything actually bad about you, either from when you were little or more recently. I'm guessing the stuff he shares is mostly from when you were younger partly because he can't talk about this." Nick gestured to indicate the cemetery.

Dean pondered on that for a second and then a thought occurred to him. "But you called me 'infamous'?"

Nick chuckled. "Well, when I say he hasn't said anything 'bad' about you what I mean is he always talks about you in a friendly way. That doesn't mean he makes you out to be a saint."

Dean smirked at that. "And I should think so too, I do have a reputation to maintain."

They dropped the conversation there as Sam wandered back over.

"Ok, I've got anything that might be incriminating and made everything look as tidy as possible. Nick, we should go and change our shirts, I don't want to look like I've been digging up a grave when the EMTs show up. Dean, did you have any thoughts about how we're going to explain what happened to your back?"

"Fell out of the tree?" suggested Dean, shrugging as best he could while lying in the grass.

"You really think they'll buy that?"

"You'd be surprised." Both Sam and Dean turned to Nick, who shrugged. "My uncle's a surgeon in the ER, he tells us stories sometimes about the ridiculous things that people do that land them there and believe me, falling out of a tree in a graveyard in the early hours of the morning wouldn't even rate the top hundred. As long as your injuries are consistent with that, I doubt they'll ask any questions."

Sam shrugged. "Ok, we'll go with that then. What name is your insurance in? Assuming you have any?"

Nick groaned somewhat melodramatically. "Oh great, now I'm going to be party to insurance fraud as well as grave desecration."

"For this I'll use the one that's actually in the name of Dean Winchester."

"Really?" queried Sam.

"Yeah," Dean said tiredly, "I mean, my hunting days are done, right? No way I can carry on if I'm spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair."

That last bit came out a bit more bitter than he'd intended and he turned his head away from Sam and Nick.

"Dean," Sam started softly.

Dean cut him off before he could say anything else, "Besides I'm going to need more than just a quick patch up, and if I'm a cripple I should qualify for medicare."

"It might not be permanent you know," Sam said, hopefully, "Nick and I talked about it a bit on the way here, and it isn't always that the spinal cord is completely severed, sometimes it's just pressure from the broken vertebra. That can heal."

Oh, how much he would love it if that were true, but he thought back to the crunching sound he'd heard when he hit the tree and winced, if that had been his back he wasn't going to get his hopes up too much. He suspected that even if it could heal it wouldn't be quick anyway.

Dean shook his head slightly. "It'll still take a long time. I'm sticking with Dean Winchester."

Sam frowned. He didn't like how despondent Dean sounded, but he did have a point about using the insurance that was in his real name.

"Ok, Nick and I will change our shirts and then I'll call an ambulance."


	2. Chapter 2

Just like Nick had said, the EMTs were completely unfazed by the guy with a broken back in the cemetery at dawn, and with the light and the distance they were from the grave he was pretty sure they hadn't noticed anything amiss. The hospital was a bit of a blur, he had a bunch of X-rays done and several doctors examined his back very carefully. Sam was there for most of it, though the doctors shooed him away a couple of times.

He was glad he didn't have any other conspicuous bruises or cuts that might have raised questions. Someone might ask about the scars, he did have rather more than most people his age to say the least, but he was old enough now that no one was going to insist he had been abused if he denied it. He could vividly remember one incident when the only way he'd been able to get the doctor to drop it was to say that he was into hardcore S&M. Thankfully said doctor had then dropped it like a hot coal, gone very red in the face and never mentioned it again.

A few hours later he was lying in a bed on one of the wards, his back immobilised with a temporary brace. The brace was somewhat uncomfortable, but they'd put him on pretty strong painkillers so he wasn't really noticing it. Besides, while he might hate hospitals he wasn't an idiot and knew that it was necessary.

Sam was sitting nearby in one of those cheap, plastic hospital chairs that looked entirely unlike it was supposed to hold someone as big as his sasquatch of a little brother. Nick had taken him back to the cemetery briefly so that Sam could pick up the Impala, and then Nick had driven back down to Stanford. He'd offered to come back the next day and bring some clothes for Sam.

"He's a good friend you know," offered Dean.

"What?"

"Nick, he's a good friend."

"Yeah. Yeah, he is, I think I didn't know quite how good until today."

Dean found himself wishing he knew Sam's friends better. He sighed, he'd been putting this off long enough.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to need to call Dad."

"Yeah, I know." Sam cast his eyes down toward the floor.

"Look, um, if you'd rather not be here when he gets here, I understand."

Sam shot him a look that very much conveyed the impression, 'are you sure it isn't your head that got broken?', and said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean smiled at that, knowing that Sam was there for him no matter what really helped.

"Thanks, Sammy"

"I do think we should wait until you've had the MRI this afternoon though. We'll have a better idea what to tell him then."

When Sam didn't complain about being called Sammy he knew just how worried his brother was about him. Dean looked over at the phone sitting on the small table next his bed. He was terrified of making that call, telling his Dad that he'd failed in the worst way. He had thought about leaving it a few days, until he could be sure Dad was done with his hunt, but he knew that would just make it worse when the time came. He sighed and pulled his gaze away from it and back to Sam. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Later that afternoon they took Dean down to the MRI machine. Dean was not usually claustrophobic, but looking at that narrow tube in the huge, humming machine, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get out if he wanted to was almost enough to tip him over the edge. He was incredibly grateful that the nurse had noticed how apprehensive he was, without drawing too much attention to it, and suggested they could play some music. He was sure Sam had probably noticed his apprehensiveness too, but there wasn't much he could do about that, however much he hated even the slightest appearance of weakness in front of his little brother. He guessed the doctors were probably expecting something calm and relaxing, but he couldn't help grinning when Sam came back from the Impala and Metallica started playing over the speakers in the room. Sam grinned back and the doctors just shrugged, they were happy with whatever would keep the patient calm, plus he could have sworn he saw the nurse tapping their foot when they thought no one was looking.

Having a nurse who liked Metallica cheered him up a bit and by the time there were back up on the ward he had got Sam talking about Stanford and his friends. Dean's head wasn't entirely in it, but it was good to see Sam happily chatting about his life. In any case they didn't see the doctor walk in until she coughed and said, "Mr Winchester?"

She was probably a bit older than their Dad, a few grey streaks in her chocolate brown hair, short, probably no more than 5 foot 4, but carried herself in a way that suggested she didn't take any nonsense from anyone, especially bull-headed 22 year olds.

"Please, call me Dean. Mr Winchester is my father."

The doctor smiled. "Very well, Dean. I'm doctor McKinley. I'm glad to see you in good spirits. I have the results of your MRI, and I wanted to discuss your condition with you," she glanced over at Sam, then back at Dean, "do you want your brother to stay?"

"I'm staying" Sam said firmly before Dean could answer.

Doctor McKinley just raised an eyebrow at Dean.

"Yeah, he can stay."

Doctor McKinley nodded. "Well, you already know about the fractured vertebrae. Now that we have the MRI results we can be more certain about the condition of your spinal cord, and the good news is that it isn't completely severed, so we expect that you will regain some sensation over time."

Sam brightened up a bit at that and he squeezed Dean's arm, but Dean wanted to make sure he had all the details before he got his hopes up.

"I'm guessing the 'not completely' and 'some' is the bad news, right?" he interjected, taking his arm back from Sam.

Doctor McKinley pursed her lips slightly as she gave Dean a thorough appraisal. Dean could tell she was deciding how much of the truth he could handle.

"Please, I need to know, you don't need to try and sugar coat it for me"

She looked him over once more briefly before nodding to herself. "Yes, although your spinal cord isn't severed, it has sustained quite a bit of damage and there will be significant scarring. We can't know precisely how much mobility and sensation will return, we will have a better idea once we get the vertebrae stabilised permanently and the swelling has gone down, but only time will tell. You are however correct that 'some' means not all. In terms of walking, which I presume is what you are most concerned about?"

Dean nodded his agreement, not trusting himself to say anything at the moment.

"As I say, it is difficult to be completely certain at the moment, but I think there is a reasonable chance that you will eventually be able to manage short distances on crutches or with a stick."

God, a _reasonable_ chance that he could walk short distances with crutches or a walking stick. Dean's face fell and he suddenly found his hands and the pale blue hospital blanket very interesting. Still, he was sure Sam would say that he should look on the bright side, at least he wasn't definitely going to be confined to a wheelchair at all times. He supposed that was better than nothing.

"Can't say I thought I'd be using a cane for another few decades, but I'll take what I can get. Thanks, doc," he said as cheerfully as could.

Doctor McKinley smiled slightly sadly. "I know that this must be very difficult for a fit young man like yourself to hear, but we'll do everything we can."

He and Sam sat in silence for a little while after Doctor McKinley left. It was better than the worst-case scenario, but Dean still felt like crap. How was he supposed to be any use to anyone when at best he'd always be unsteady enough to need crutches or a cane? He wouldn't be able to hunt, he wouldn't be able to keep Sam safe, he was worthless.

Eventually Sam broke the silence. "I guess we should call Dad now."

"Yeah, yeah we should," Dean said morosely.

"I can do it if you want," Sam offered quietly.

Dean knew Sam hadn't spoken to Dad at all since the big fight and was sure that he really wouldn't be relishing the thought of calling him now, but the thought warmed Dean slightly.

"No, I'll do it."

He stared at the phone on the table for a long minute before picking it up and finding the number.

"He might not have cell reception, he was going to a pretty rural place," he said to Sam as he pressed dial, not sure whether or not he wanted that to be true. Sam simply nodded in acknowledgement.

Apparently Dad did have reception because it started ringing, and it didn't take long before he heard Dad's gruff voice come on. "Dean?" Dad sounded exhausted, probably he'd just finished with his hunt then.

"Hi Dad."

"How did the hunt go?"

"Well, um, it's finished I guess," Dean answered, dancing around why he had made this call.

"Good, where can I meet you then?" Dad evidently hadn't picked up on Dean's hedging.

"Um, Mercy hospital in Redding."

"Mercy hospit… Dean? What happened?"

"Uh, Dad, I don't think I'm going to be hunting anymore."

Dean could almost hear his father freeze, and did just catch a very muffled, 'Oh, God'.

"Dean, what happened?" he said more forcefully.

"The spirit threw me into a tree. My back's broken."

This time Dean heard his Dad say, 'Oh, God', loud and clear but if he stopped now he wouldn't be able to carry on, so he just robotically repeated what the doctors had said.

"Three broken lumbar vertebrae, one badly. Pressure on the spinal cord. Not severed, but badly damaged and scarred. Tomorrow they're going to do surgery to stabilise the vertebrae," he swallowed, "Once they've done that and the swelling has gone down they'll have a better idea how permanent the damage is."

"You're…" the question was implicit. Dad sounded as broken as he felt.

Dean gulped. "From the waist down."

"And you're at Mercy hospital in Redding?"

"Yeah. Sammy's with me. He cleaned up and then came with me to the hospital."

"That's good, can you put him on?"

Dean held the phone out to Sam. "He wants to talk to you."

Sam was a little hesitant at first, this would be the first time they had spoken in months, and they hadn't exactly parted on the best terms, but he did take the phone. Of course, Dean could only hear Sam's side of the conversation.

"Dad?"

"It's fine, Dean was in trouble."

"I will Dad. Um, I had to tell my roommate Nick, about the, um, family business. He drove me up to help Dean."

Dean could tell Sam was bracing himself for the blowback from that, but it never came and he saw some of the tension leave the muscles in Sam's neck.

"He was freaked out at first, but he helped clean up. He's a good friend, he won't tell anyone."

"Ok Dad, I will, see you soon."

Sam hung up and handed the phone back to Dean.

"He handled the Nick thing better than I thought," Dean said, forcing a small smile.

"I think he was too out of it to really take it in." Sam gave Dean a small, sad smile of his own. "He said he'll be here as soon as he can, either late tomorrow evening, or early the morning after. Told me to look after you."

Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Dad told Sam to look after him. Somehow that role reversal brought the situation home more than anything else. Dean didn't cry, but right now he really felt like he wanted to, or scream, or punch something, or preferably all three simultaneously. In a strange way, he thought he might have been able to cope with dying, but the prospect of being left vulnerable for the rest of his life was too much. What use would he be like this? He couldn't help Dad, he couldn't look after Sammy, he was useless now, a burden, just a worthless sack of meat.

Sam must have picked up on at least some of how he was feeling and took hold of Dean's arm. "We'll get through this," he said quietly, squeezing tight.

Dean didn't think he could risk saying anything so he just did his best to keep the turmoil he was feeling from his face and smiled a thank you at Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

"Look Sam, I know you want to stay with me, but you still haven't showered since yesterday morning and frankly you're starting to stink out the place."

It was just after midday and Nick had arrived with some of Sam's clothes. Sam, of course, was being difficult and not wanting to leave, and Dean was beginning to get rather exasperated.

"But," Sam started, before Dean interrupted.

"I'm not dying or going anywhere, but if you don't shower soon I think I actually might die from stink overload. Seriously, even the nurses are covering their noses and they have to deal with people covered in God knows what every day. If you really can't bear to have me left alone for an hour Nick can sit with me for a while."

Ok, so maybe he was overdoing it a little bit, but Dean defied anyone to share a room for hours on end with someone who hadn't showered for over a day after filling in a grave without getting fed up with the smell.

"An hour?" queried Sam.

"You really do need that shower," Nick offered, agreeing with Dean, and managing to elicit a self-satisfied smirk from Dean.

"It wouldn't hurt you to eat something either while you're at it." Dean was probably pushing his luck a little with that one, but he had to try. This time it was Sam's stomach that betrayed him with a loud growl. Dean smirked again, "See, even your stomach agrees with me."

Sam held up his hands in defeat. "Ok, ok, I'll go shower and pick something up to eat. Do you guys want anything?"

"Just a pastry or something for me, some of us actually had breakfast this morning," Nick said.

"Much as I'd love some pie Sammy, you know they won't let me eat until after the surgery." Dean tried to keep his voice light, but it still had a bit of hard edge to it. Hopefully they just interpreted it as disgruntlement at having to not eat.

"It's Sam," Sam muttered as he walked off.

"Well he must be feeling a bit less worried if he's started correcting me for calling him Sammy," Dean said quietly to himself, shaking his head slightly as he watched Sam's sasquatch back disappearing.

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry Nick, didn't realise I'd said that out loud. He doesn't like people calling him Sammy, but when he's really worried about me he doesn't notice."

"Ah, I might bear that in mind if I want to annoy him," Nick said with a smile.

"Well, be careful, he can get pretty vicious if he gets too annoyed."

"Don't worry, I know better than to goad him into going all Hulk on me."

"Glad to hear it."

They chatted for a while about various inane things until eventually Dean got around to the question he'd been wanting to ask.

"So, you two seem pretty close?"

"Yeah, I mean we're roommates of course, and living in that close proximity it's kind of inevitable that you get to know each other pretty well, but yeah we're pretty close friends too. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just usually Sammy takes a while to make friends when he moves to a new place, and you two seem really tight."

"Err, if you say so, Dean." Dean wasn't quite sure whether Nick's reaction was confusion or evasiveness.

"Um, you're not, um, are you?" Dean waved his hand vaguely, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"What?"

"You know, together?"

Nick just looked completely confused as he tried to puzzle out what Dean was going on about. Dean realised this had probably been a mistake and was just about to tell Nick to forget about it as Nick's eyes widened in realisation.

"Oh, you think? Me and Sam?" And then Nick burst out laughing uncontrollably.

He was still trying to get his laughter under control when Sam came back holding some food from the hospital cafeteria.

"Dean, what did you do to Nick?" Sam asked with a bemused expression on his face.

"I didn't think it was that funny," Dean sulked slightly, crossing his arms.

Nick was still chuckling slightly, and his sides hurt from laughing so much, but he just about managed to get out, "Dean, he, he thought that the two of us, that I was your boyfriend." And then he started laughing again.

"What? Dean, since when have I ever shown any signs of being gay?"

"Well you have always been a big girl," Dean grumped, "Besides, it isn't like you to get this close with someone so fast."

"Jealous, Dean? I have been at Stanford for 6 months now."

"Still don't see why it's so funny"

Nick managed to bring his laughter back under control again. "Because you didn't have to deal with him mooning over a girl for a month before he finally plucked up the courage to ask her out."

"Nick" Sam scolded.

Dean's scowl slowly morphed into a sly grin. "Oh, so Sammy has a girl, does he?"

"Turned out she already had a boyfriend," Sam said with a grimace, "Anyway, no I'm not gay, and Nick certainly isn't my boyfriend."

"That's fine, I think Dean's more my type anyway."

Dean just raised an eyebrow.

"Careful Nick, Dean'll sleep with anything that moves, and probably some things that don't."

"Hey!" Dean objected, "You're just jealous that I'm the more attractive brother."

Nick shrugged and gestured at Dean, while speaking to Sam, "You can't deny he's pretty."

Dean wrinkled his nose and pouted slightly. "'m not pretty. I'm handsome."

"You really are too easy sometimes, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head.

"In more ways than one, apparently," added Nick.

Sam stared at him for a moment before breaking out in guffaws of laughter as Dean's face took on a full-blown scowl again.

Sam was glad to have drawn Dean out of his shell a little bit, and they continued to banter back and forth for a while. In return for having had fun at both of their expenses he brought up the incident a few months ago when a very drunk Nick had decided to imitate a Kangaroo and then tried to jump over a low wall only to trip and end up completely tangled in the bushes on the other side. Not only that, but when they had finally managed to get him free, Nick had then promptly thrown up all over their friend Becky. Dean then of course asked for any embarrassing episodes involving Sam, to which Nick was happy to oblige.

Sam tuned out a little as Nick told some silly anecdote about the two of them. Dean laughed, but he could sense the undercurrents. He knew this must be very hard for Dean, Dean never coped well with being injured and confined to bed, but as usual Dean was walling his feelings away behind a façade. Even if no-one else could tell it was there, but he could.

Too soon the light conversation came to an end when the doctors came to take Dean was down for surgery on his back and Nick left to head back to Palo Alto.

* * *

Sam was sitting, watching Dean after the surgery. He was still sleeping or unconscious, knocked out by the drugs they'd given him. He was carefully propped up on his side so that he wouldn't damage any of the stitches in his back or cause himself any more pain. The afternoon sun was streaming through the window and casting golden highlights in his hair. Right now, looking at him from the front Dean just looked peaceful, like he might have done in any of the many motel rooms or apartments that they had spent time in when they were younger. You couldn't tell that he had a big scar on his back where the surgeons had opened him up to put in a bunch of pins and plates, fusing the three broken vertebrae together. You couldn't tell that he couldn't move his legs or feel anything below his waist. You couldn't see the turmoil and pain that lurked behind his eyes. Sam wished that he could freeze this moment and keep it.

"Sammy," Dean said softly. His eyes were still closed.

Swiftly, silently, Sam was at his bedside. "I'm here Dean, do you need anything?"

"Sammy," Dean said softly again, his eyes fluttering open this time.

He shifted slightly and groaned, waking up all the way.

"How can it hurt more after they've done the surgery?" he asked no one in particular.

"I'll call the nurse."

Sam reached for the call button, but quickly grabbed hold of Dean as he tried to roll over onto his back.

"Careful, Dean, you're not supposed to lie on your back for a while, they want you to keep pressure off it."

"Ugh, it feels like someone's stuck a bunch of spikes in my back."

Sam gave a tight smile. "Well in a way I suppose they did, you do have four steel rods in there now."

Dean grimaced again. "Are you sure it's only four?"

"Well there are some plates in there too."

"It feels like they stuffed the whole of Bobby's scrapyard in there."

At that point the nurse came in and increased the dosage on Dean's painkillers.

Slowly the tightness around Dean's eyes faded away again. Sam wanted to think that the pain might be a good sign, that it might be an indication of some of the sensation coming back, but he couldn't be sure of that, and he knew Dean would shoot the idea down if he voiced it.

It wasn't too long before Dean fell asleep again and once more looked peaceful. The doctor came in to check on him and said it wasn't surprising that he was sleeping, surgery was often quite tiring and he had obviously been quite stressed. Sam suspected they might have slipped him something to help him sleep as well, but he wasn't going to complain, it wasn't like he was above doing that himself on occasions when Dean was sick and refusing to take care of himself properly.

Sam watched for a while as Dean slept peacefully and then lowered his head into his hands on the side of Dean's bed to hide the wetness shining in his eyes.

"Dean, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. If I hadn't left you would never have been in that graveyard by yourself and this wouldn't have happened."

He sat in silence for a few minutes and then shifted slightly to clasp his hands together for a quiet prayer, asking God to look after Dean, and to help him look after Dean.

He knew Dean would rebuke his guilt if he voiced it when Dean was awake, but that couldn't change how he felt. He also knew that Dean would probably not appreciate the prayer. They'd never really spoken about faith, but there was a reason he had never mentioned the fact he prayed every day to Dean. He had spoken to Pastor Jim about it before, who said that it was not uncommon for those who had witnessed terrible evil to struggle with faith and Hunters have seen more evil than most could imagine. He smiled slightly as he remembered the twinkle in the Pastor's eye as he said, 'but that just means that the rest of us have to pray even harder on their behalf.'

Of all the Hunters that they had met over the years through their father Pastor Jim was probably the one he was closest to. Bobby was like a second father to them both, but he had always felt able to share his thoughts and his burdens with Pastor Jim in a way he couldn't with anyone else. Dean would never be willing to indulge in such a 'chick-flick moment', and certainly not with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam was slumped over in the chair in the corner, his long legs splayed out in front of him, exhaustion finally having got the better of him. Initially he had thought Dean was asleep too, but then he stirred slightly, the blankets rustling softly as he shifted.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me, son. How are you doing?"

"I've been better," Dean said with a small smile, gesturing his hand towards his legs.

John could tell the smile was false and fragile, but he decided the best course was probably just to play along.

"Did the surgery go well?"

Dean shrugged as well as one could when propped up on their side. "I guess. I'm now the proud owner of a back full of shrapnel. The docs say it'll keep the vertebrae stable."

The conversation had obviously disturbed Sam, who stirred now as well and flexed his neck and back to work out the kinks from sleeping in the chair.

"Dad?"

"Hey son. It's good to see you again."

"Uh yeah, you too." Sam was a little surprised at the genuine smile that John had given him before he turned back to Dean.

"Any change in, you know."

Dean did his best to look away so that John couldn't see his face. "No. The docs say it's still too early to say yet, but I can't feel a thing," his voice was steady, but the tension was obvious.

John dragged another chair over and sat down heavily with his head in his hands.

"God Dean, this is all my fault."

"Dad, what're you…"

John looked up. "No, don't try and tell me I couldn't have done anything to stop it because I could. There are so many things I should or shouldn't have done. I shouldn't have let you go off hunting by yourself. Sam was right," John's voice hitched slightly, "you were my good little soldier and at some point I absorbed your self-confidence and started to believe that you were invulnerable, that you'd always make it out. You might gain a few new scars but that would just be something to show off to the next girl."

"Dad."

"It's not your fault, all twenty-two year olds think they're immortal, and they should, it's the best part of being twenty-two, but I should know better. I should never have got you into hunting in the first place, either of you," he flicked his gaze over to Sam quickly, who was sitting in stunned silence, "I got into this for two reasons: to avenge your mother, and to keep the two of you safe. At some point I lost sight of the second and became consumed by the first."

"But, Dad, I wanted to help hunt the thing that killed Mom." The expression on Dean's face was some mixture of bewilderment and hurt.

"I know, son, but how much of that is because it's the only life I ever showed you? Your mother was convinced you would be an engineer or something, even at four years old you were always taking things apart to see how they worked," he smiled slightly at the memory of a happy young Dean and Mary, and then shook his head, "I can't believe this life is what she would have wanted for you. I know you must feel like this is the end, but I don't know what I would do if you had been killed, either of you. I'm sorry, son, I'm sorry for everything."

That wasn't completely true, John had had plenty of time to think on the drive here. A Winchester alone with their thoughts is rarely a good thing and John had run through in agonising detail the scenario of Dean's death. Some of the points along the way varied, but it always ended with him on his knees at a crossroads finding out if the myth was true, and if it was, he would do the deal in a heartbeat.

John dropped his head and put his hands to his face to cover the brightness in his eyes. What he didn't see as a result, and neither did Sam as he was focussed on John, was how Dean seemed to be shrinking in on himself as he digested what John had said.

"I'm just going to see if I can find some coffee in this place, it was a long drive here," he said to excuse himself from the room for a moment.

He was about halfway down the hallway when Sam called out to him. He turned and then Sam started down the corridor towards him, slightly tentatively at first, then accelerating to a jog. When he reached John he flung his arms around him and hugged him tightly. John was startled, after the way they'd parted last time he thought he might have lost Sam forever, and they'd barely been on speaking terms even before that.

"I, Dad, I'm sorry too. If I hadn't left I would have been there to watch out for Dean and this wouldn't have happened," Sam mumbled, the taller man's head buried in John's shoulder.

John found himself wondering just how long it been since Sam had got taller than him as he cautiously brought his hand up to the back of Sam's head. The last time they'd hugged like this John was sure Sam's head wouldn't have reached the top of his chest.

"What would Dean say if he saw us like this?" he said softly, almost to himself more than anything else. A little louder he added, "Come on, you go back and sit with your brother and I'll get us some coffee. I think we could all do with some."

John felt oddly weightless as he went in search of coffee, buoyed by Sam's hug. It had been such a long time since Sam had hugged him like that. Dean had never been much of one for hugs, or at least not after Mary's death. Sam on other hand, though he could be reserved at times, had still been quite a tactile person. There had been something special about Sam's hugs too. Whenever he'd come back tired, hurt and worn down after a hunt, a hug from Sam had always helped him feel better. Over time the hugs had petered out though and eventually stopped altogether, and as much as John wanted to think that it was just that Sam had grown out of it, he knew that if he was honest with himself that wasn't true. Sam might not hug him anymore, but he still did with Dean, even with Bobby, and he was always willing, and knew when, to give a comforting hand to victims they had been interviewing. It really just drove home how long he and Sam had been drifting apart.

In his distraction John almost bumped into Dean's doctor on his way back as she was on her way out the room. They exchanged pleasantries and she gave him a basic update, but there wasn't much to say at this point, it was all just wait and see.

John handed out the coffees when he walked back in, both brothers taking them somewhat robotically. While he was out Dean had been manoeuvred up into a sitting position, resting against a cushion shaped like an upturned 'U'. They spent a few moments in silence, sipping their drinks, and conveniently allowing John a little extra time to collect himself.

"I spoke to your doctor while I was getting the coffee, Dean."

Dean looked up at him but didn't say anything.

"They want to keep you in for a few more days to check that the new hardware is all settled and there isn't any infection, but then they're going to release you to outpatient."

"Great, I can't wait to be out of this place," Dean muttered.

"I thought you'd say that. Anyway, I've spoken to both Bobby and Pastor Jim and both of them would be happy for you to stay with them for as long as you want." He didn't need to say that 'as long as you want' was effectively the same as forever.

"What about you, Dad?" Sam asked quietly.

"Acknowledging my obsession doesn't make it go away, Sam. I _will_ be around more and spend more time with both of you but I can't stop hunting the thing that killed Mary, I'm in too deep to get out now."

He hadn't really thought about it that way before, but it was true. Even if he wanted to get out of hunting he'd built up too much of a reputation, amongst the things they hunted as well as other hunters. He strongly suspected that if he settled in one place for too long trouble would find him soon enough whether he wanted it or not. He just hoped it wouldn't follow his boys too.

In the normal way Sam might have said something to object to that, but he knew that their Dad was really trying at the moment. Dean just stayed silent.

* * *

John had decided that the paperwork for Medicare had been specifically designed to be so aggravating to fill out that people would give up and not bother. To be honest knowing the federal government, that might actually be true. The doctor had brought it up for him a while ago, at his request, so he could officially get Dean's care transferred over, but he was starting to regret it now.

He put the papers down and massaged his forehead.

"Dean, I'm just going to see where Sammy's got to."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

John didn't appreciate Dean's tone, but he bit back his instinct to call him out on it. He knew Dean must be having trouble coping with what had happened and it wasn't really surprising if that was making him act out a little.

Sam had said he was going down to the hospital cafeteria to get something to eat, but that had been a couple of hours ago now. John rather doubted that he had managed to get himself in trouble in the hospital, but with what had happened to Dean he wanted to be sure he knew where Sam was and that everything was ok. Perhaps his parenting instincts weren't completely shot after all.

The cafeteria was fairly empty when he walked in, most people had eaten lunch a few hours ago, back around the time Sam came down. He quickly spotted Sam in the back corner of the large room. His laptop was open on the table and he was pacing back and forth purposefully, talking animatedly to someone on his phone. Dean had told him that Sam wanted to be a lawyer and just for a moment John could imagine Sam pacing like he was now, but in a courtroom, talking to a jury. Although Sam had never been as comfortable with pretending to be police or other officials as Dean or himself, it had at the same time somehow come to him more naturally. He could tell that whoever was on the other end of the line was someone Sam was trying to persuade, it certainly didn't seem like he was just talking to friends.

Sam was too focussed on his conversation to notice John by the door, though he was pleased to note that Sam had placed himself in the corner that had the best view of the rest of the room. Clearly Sam wasn't going completely soft at Stanford. He decided to wait by the door until Sam had finished rather than distract him.

Sam took the phone away from his ear and snapped it closed, the conversation obviously over and moved to sit back down at his laptop, but almost immediately he spotted John standing by the door and startled slightly. Once again John was somewhat gratified that Sam's senses were not completely dulled. He walked over to where Sam was standing and could see that the boy looked quite tense suddenly, so John held up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I'm not here to fight Sammy, I just wanted to know where you were and what you were doing."

He saw the confusion pass across Sam's face briefly, and felt a jab in his heart that his youngest son's first instinct would be to assume that his father was here to yell at him. Thankfully the confused expression was only fleeting and then Sam relaxed slightly, though he did give a slightly nervous grin and scratch the back of his head.

"Um, well I was thinking about what you said."

"What I said?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, what you said about Dean staying with Bobby or Pastor Jim, and I mean I know they would both be happy to have Dean there, but I was thinking about all the practical problems. I mean, like both of them have _stairs_."

John mentally kicked himself again. That thought hadn't even occurred to him, but Sam was right, both Bobby and Pastor Jim had pretty traditional two storey houses. It certainly wouldn't be easy for someone who was confined to a wheelchair.

"They could put in a chair lift or something, to deal with that, but there're all sorts of other things, like needing handles to grab on to in the bathroom, and not being able to reach high cupboards," Sam continued, "But I remembered that Stanford has a bunch of apartments that are specifically designed to be wheelchair accessible and so I thought maybe Dean would be able to stay with me."

It was a good idea. He was certain a wealthy university like Stanford would have put a lot of thought into making sure that all of the details were right and everything was up to code. There was more to it though, John knew Sam well enough to be able to see that. The brothers had always been almost inseparable, and so it was hardly surprising that after something like this had happened Sam would want to keep Dean close, and not halfway across the country at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's.

"That was who you were on the phone with?" John queried.

Sam nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I was just talking with one of the housing managers."

"So, did it work? Do they have an apartment you and Dean can take?"

"I don't know yet, they're going to get back to me later today, and there are a couple more people I should talk to, but I think so. They sounded pretty positive."

"Ok, I'm going to go back up to Dean."

"Oh, um," Sam was suddenly jittery again, "don't tell him yet, I don't want to let him down if it doesn't work out."

Sam was still feeling guilty about not having been there to stop Dean getting hurt, that much was obvious.

"I'll tell him you were tired and needed to get some rest. When you know if it works out you can come up and tell Dean yourself."

"Thanks, Dad."

John felt another small pang as he was reminded again how unusual it was for Sam to speak to him with genuine warmth in his voice. Perhaps if one good thing came out of Dean's injury it would be helping him reconnect with his boys as a father rather than a drill sergeant.

He turned to walk back out of the cafeteria, but stopped himself after a couple of steps. He still hadn't addressed the way he and Sam had parted last time. Sam had already forgiven him, he could tell that, it was just the way Sam was, but if he really wanted to make good on reconnecting with his boys as a father he needed to say something. He sighed and turned back round.

"Sam, I, Dean isn't the only one who deserves an apology."

"It's ok Dad."

"No, Sam, I said some things I shouldn't have last time. I was scared, scared of what might happen to you if you weren't with us where I could protect you," yeah, because bang-up job you did there with Dean, he added mentally, "I just want you to know that I'm proud of you, for getting in to Stanford."

With that he turned on his heel and walked quickly out of the cafeteria before Sam could respond.

Sam watched as his father marched out of the hospital cafeteria. The apology had surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have after what he'd said to Dean earlier. Sam had thought that it might just have been a reaction to Dean being injured, but maybe it really had pushed him to turn over a new leaf.

He had mixed feelings about the night he'd finally left for Stanford. He'd been happy, almost euphoric, to finally get away from Dad and his overbearing, controlling attitude. On the other hand, the way Dad had told him never to come back had hurt, more than he'd ever let on anyone, even Dean. He'd held onto the feeling of getting away, getting to live his own life until after Dean had dropped him off at the bus station and then he'd finally broken down. None of the workers at the bus station said anything, it wouldn't be the first time someone had been dumped there in tears. Even after that, when he'd got to Stanford, he'd drawn on that euphoric feeling of finally being in control of his own life to plaster over the homesickness he felt at being away from Dean, and their Dad, and how out of place he sometimes felt. Without that to hold onto he thought he might have gone insane. It was strange how that day could be both one of his best and worst memories simultaneously, though he'd read enough psychology to know that euphoria could be a type of mania and so maybe the almost bipolar flip later wasn't so odd after all.

Now he could reflect on it a little differently. He felt a little guilty about feeling so happy to finally be away, but on the other hand knowing that his Dad did care, even if he had a hard time showing it, made it hurt less. That Dad had a hard time with feelings of any sort was pretty obvious to just about anyone, it didn't take a genius to notice that Dad had immediately left the room after both apologies. It was pretty clear where Dean got his aversion to displays of emotion from.

* * *

Another hour or so later and John looked up to see Sam walking back over to him and Dean. From the expression on his face he guessed that he must have been successful at finding a wheelchair accessible apartment at Stanford.

"Hey Dean."

"Hey Sammy, what's up?"

"I have another option, you know for when you get out of here. You could come and stay with me at Stanford if you want. The university has some apartments that are designed to be easily accessible with a wheelchair and we could have one."

Dean didn't quite know what to say. On the one hand, he did want to be with Sam, and it was pretty clear Sam wanted it to, and just the fact that Sam wanted him to live with him made him feel a lot happier. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he'd be able to cope with Sam constantly fussing over him. He glanced over at John.

John shrugged slightly and said, "It sounds like a good option, but it's entirely up to you Dean."

Dean could read between the lines, Dad thought he would be better off staying with Sam.

"Yeah, that, that sounds like a good idea Sammy, I'd like that."

"Great!" Sam was practically bouncing with happiness, "I'll need to finalise some details with them, but it should be ready by the time they release you from the hospital."

* * *

 **Author Note:** So, John has arrived. I hope his reaction to Dean being paralyzed and his change in attitude as a result is believable. Well, his resolution to change at least, we'll see how well it sticks.

Also, thanks to all of the reviewers so far. Knowing that people are enjoying the story really does help keep me motivated to write more!


	5. Chapter 5

"Gah"

"Dean?"

"Argh"

"Dean! What's wrong?"

Sam was already reaching for the call button, all thoughts of their previous conversation forgotten. Dean was obviously in pain, and now frantically rubbing at his legs.

"It feels like I've got fucking fire ants in my veins, that's what," Dean said through gritted teeth as he continued to rub at his legs.

"You can feel them?" That ought to be a good thing, Sam thought, though he didn't like the fact that it was currently causing his brother pain.

"Right now I kinda wish I couldn't," Dean ground out.

The nurse came in, along with Dr McKinley, and Dean repeated his analogy to fire ants when they asked what was wrong. The nurse left at Dr McKinley's instruction and came back shortly with a small syringe that she injected into the IV port on Dean's hand.

"That should help the pain, but it won't completely get rid of the itching sensation. It should fade away by itself fairly quickly, but we want to know how long it takes. In the meantime, although I know it is difficult, please do try not to rub at your legs."

"What the hell is this?"

"Have you ever heard of phantom limb pain, Dean?"

"That's where people continue to feel like a limb that was amputated is still there, right?"

"Exactly so. It's caused by damaged nerves sending spurious signals to the brain."

"This is like that?"

"Similar, yes. The swelling around your spinal cord should be going down nicely now, enough that your brain is trying to reconnect to your legs. Your spinal cord is damaged however and so those signals are getting confused. Episodes like this typically don't last very long, and the first is often the worst, so while you may have similar episodes in the future they should not be as bad and will hopefully fade away entirely as your brain gets used to the new situation."

Dean was afraid to ask, but had to anyway, "Is, is this a sign that I'm getting feeling back in my legs?"

"Although I know it may not feel much like a good thing, yes, this is encouraging. I'll come back in about half an hour, by which time the ants should have gone and we'll test the nerve responses in your legs."

After the nurse and the doctor left the brothers mostly just sat in silence waiting for them to return. Sam couldn't help watching as Dean's fists spasmed and screwed up the blankets on the bed as he fought to try and stop himself rubbing his legs. As much as he knew it was discomfort rather than pain now it was still difficult to sit there and not do anything. He knew phantom limb pain could be something that never went away and really hoped that this was just a sign that some of the sensation in Dean's legs was returning. Dean didn't deserve to have more problems.

Gradually the frequency with which Dean's hands spasmed decreased and after about 15 minutes it seemed to have subsided completely.

"How are the ants doing?" Sam asked with a somewhat forced attempt at humour.

"They seem to have gone now," Dean wiped his hand down his face in relief, "Fuck, I really hope that was a one-off thing."

Sam grimaced sympathetically.

A little while later Dr McKinley and the nurse came back in with a small white cart. Dean eyed the instruments on the cart warily. He knew that nerve signals were electrical, so the little box with what looked like a bundle of electrodes made sense. The thing that looked like a barbecue fork on the other hand was kind of alarming.

"First, we're going to do some nerve conduction tests," Dr Mckinley said, indicating the little box with the bundle of electrodes, "That will provide us with a baseline and check that there are no problems in your legs. We don't expect there to be, we already know that the main problem is in the communication between your legs and your brain, which is where everything else you see here comes in. Unfortunately, we don't really have any means of directly testing the communication, so we have to go low tech: stimulate the nerves in your legs and see what you can feel. Hence, we have an ice pack for stimulating temperature, and this," she picked up the barbecue fork, "which is the one people are always most disconcerted by, is for testing how sensitive your sense of touch is. You don't need to worry about me stabbing you with it, the points are blunt, though I will be poking you with it. The closer together the points are when you can still sense two distinct points of contact the more sensitive the skin is. Different areas of the skin are more or less sensitive naturally, your hands are much more sensitive than your back for example, but we'll compare against our typical expectations and do comparisons with regions of your arms that should be similar."

Dr McKinley had perhaps sensed Dean's apprehension, and her explanation did help assuage his concerns, though he was still going to be on alert when she came at him with that fork.

As expected the nerve conduction test showed that everything was normal in both of his legs so Dr Mckinley moved onto the poking and prodding portion. Dean could tell that his left leg was a lot less sensitive than his left arm, which they tested first to get a comparison, but the doctor seemed happy with it. Even just being able to feel something was a start he supposed. Then they moved on to his right leg and all he got was a big fat nothing. She did comment that it was that side where the damage to his spine was worst, so it was to be expected that his right leg would be worse than his left, but he could see her frown: she had hoped for more than nothing. So had he.

Perhaps in an attempt to put the disappointment firmly behind them Dr McKinley moved swiftly on to examining Dean's back and declared that it was healed enough for him to get changed into some of his own clothes provided the waistband was loose and start getting used to a wheelchair. He sent Sam off to fetch some of his clothes while the nurse left to get a wheelchair for him, leaving him alone with the doctor.

"So, um, does this mean I'm never going to get feeling back in my right leg?" He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know the answer, but couldn't help asking.

Dr McKinley sighed slightly, "No, I still expect that you will get some sensation back. The rest of your recovery is progressing so well though that I had hoped we might be lucky with your right leg too. It's a good thing really, your left leg is doing better than I had expected and your back is healing well too, your right leg is just progressing more in line with my initial assessment."

"So I might only need one cane then?"

The doctor smiled. "You've got quite a long road ahead of you, but yes I think that's a reasonable goal."

The nurse came back first with a wheelchair and a burly porter to help lift him down off the bed and into the chair. He really hated being picked up and moved around, but one glance down told him that the bed was just too high for him to get down from by himself, at least not without a very good chance of hurting himself further. Sam came back just as he was getting settled in the chair.

Aside from getting into his own clothes rather than this stupid hospital gown the first thing he wanted to do with his partial freedom was go to the bathroom. By himself. Sam had helpfully pointed out that he was lucky that the paralysis hadn't affected his bladder, but frankly he would have been happier not to have known that was ever a possibility.

He was glad he decided to let Sam carry the clothes until they got to the bathroom. Steering the wheelchair took a little bit of getting used to and he could sense Sam wanting to jump in and help when he veered off course, but with his arms full of a bundle of clothing there wasn't much Sam could do without dropping everything and making it worse. The nurse who had followed them on the other hand seemed quite content to let Dean get the hang of the wheelchair by himself.

Getting out of the chair was awkward but manageable, he finally appreciated all the handles they put in these restrooms. He also mused that he wasn't going to have any trouble keeping his upper body in shape, hauling himself around. He got the boxers and pants on fairly easily, the sweatpants Sam had brought him were quite baggy which helped, but the socks were proving to be beyond frustrating.

He could see the headlines now, 'the great hunter, Dean Winchester, defeated by a pair of socks.' It was as bad as trying to put socks on Sammy when he was a baby. For whatever reason as a baby Sam had absolutely hated socks and getting them on his feet had been a real pain. Now that he thought about it this did actually have some similarities with trying to put socks on Sammy as a baby. No wriggling and squirming, but the boneless quality his feet had was the same. With that realisation he adapted what he was doing slightly and managed to get them on at last.

It was a good thing Sam hadn't bothered with shoes, because after the debacle with the socks he knew there was no way he'd be able to get his boots on like this. There was an old pair of sneakers he thought might work, he'd ask Sam to get them some time before they left. He might not really need shoes since he wasn't going to be putting his feet on the ground, but it would feel better to be properly dressed. He was also aware of what the doctor had said about needing to be careful with his legs until he got more feeling back because he wouldn't notice if they got hurt or were too hot or cold.

He sat back and put his head against the cold tile of the bathroom wall and took a deep breath to try and clear his head.

There was a knock at the door and he heard Sam's muffled voice, "Hey, Dean, are you ok? You've been in there quite a while."

"For God's sake can't you let a man use the bathroom in peace? Yeah, I've been a while, that's because everything takes longer at the moment or do you need me to give a fucking running commentary?" Dean shouted back.

He could almost hear Sam flinch and he sighed. He shouldn't have snapped at Sam. He knew that he was trying to be helpful but it could get a bit overbearing at times. Right now he also really just wanted a moment to himself to think. It was somewhat ironic, usually Sam would be the one who wanted to go off by himself to think. With everything that had happened though, including Dad's pronouncement yesterday, he just needed to try and make sense of things.

Dad was probably one of the hardest things to make sense of, not that John Winchester ever went out of his way to make sense to anyone. He strongly suspected that the 'errands' Dad had spent most of today running were just an excuse to get away from the hospital, and for once Dean was actually glad he wasn't around. Yesterday he had just been angry, now he didn't really know what to think. He did want to hunt, to avenge Mom, but how much of that was because he didn't know how to do anything else? He vaguely remembered when he was younger wanting to be a fireman, and he thought that was something he could perhaps have done instead. He would still have been saving people, and pulling people out of burning buildings held a particular resonance. No way he could be a firefighter like this though, so there wasn't much point thinking about it. He needed to concentrate on healing first. At least his left leg seemed to be doing better than expected, he'd take whatever good news he could get.

* * *

Dean was feeling a bit more upbeat as he wheeled himself out to the parking lot two days later. He was getting used to the wheelchair and it did have certain advantages, like the fact that no one could complain about him checking out girls' butts since they were now level with his line of sight. He could get used to people opening doors for him too. He'd only had one more episode with the weird ant sensations and it been much less bad than the first time. He still couldn't feel anything in his right leg, but he was determined to try not to dwell on it.

The January morning Sun was clear and bright. He rolled across the cracked asphalt of the parking lot and smiled when he spotted the sleek, black form of his baby, gleaming in the sunlight.

He had just taken hold of the door handle when he yanked his hand back as if it had been burned. His head drooped and he wheeled himself round to the other side of the car. He pulled open the passenger side door, manoeuvred the chair next to the door and grabbed hold of the roof with his right hand to swing himself in. He sighed and ran his fingers over the dashboard.

"I guess I'm not gonna be your driver anymore, Baby. Don't worry, I'll make sure Sam takes good care of you."

When Sam came out to the car he found Dean sitting quietly in the passenger seat. He folded up the wheelchair and put it in the back seat before going back round to the driver's side and lowering himself in. He glanced over at Dean as he turned the key and the Impala's engine roared into life. Dean was just staring out of the window and not paying attention. It was a marked change from earlier and it didn't take much deduction to guess that it might have been the fact he couldn't drive anymore that had upset him. Sam wondered if there was anything he could do about it.

Although they were the wrong way around this, him and Dean in the Impala driving down to Stanford, was what he had wanted more than anything. He would never admit to Dean just how much he had missed his brother these last few months. He just wished that getting what he wanted hadn't come at the cost of Dean's legs.

He had felt so out of place at Stanford at times. Not intellectually like he often had at school; there were still people that seemed to care about nothing other than partying, but they were much fewer and further between. No, what made him feel out of place at Stanford and Palo Alto was money. He had always known that they had been poor, but he hadn't appreciated just how poor before going to Stanford. He had known that there were other people who bought clothes new rather than getting them from thrift stores or church charity bins. If nothing else the shops existed, so clearly people used them.

They had occasionally been made fun of at school for their generally slightly scruffy appearance, but there had usually been enough other people who also had old, worn out clothes that they didn't stick out that much. The small, rural towns they typically stayed in were usually not wealthy places, and when they were in a larger city the motels they stayed at were never on the good side of town. Palo Alto was different though. He knew that statistically it was one of the wealthiest cities in the US so it was not a fair comparison, but that didn't change how jarring the contrast was.

There was also a big difference between going to school with people and living with them. Dad's paranoia had meant they had never really visited friends' houses, not to mention that with the frequency with which they moved around they rarely became close enough with anyone that they would have wanted to anyway. Even Nick, whose parents were both teachers in a Seattle suburb, seemed wealthy to him. Nick, like most people, had arrived with a car load of stuff, whereas Sam just had one bag of clothes to his name.

What had really driven it home had been a lecture for one of the sociology courses about a month after he had arrived, on poverty in the United States. The lecturer had been describing the conditions of abject poverty and they might as well have been describing his life. He had looked around the lecture theatre and all of the other students looked either pitying or appalled that anyone in the US could live like that. He had wanted desperately to escape, but he had been sitting near the middle of the row and would have had to push past a lot of other people to get out. So, he sat there, shrinking further and further into his seat as the lecturer dispassionately dismantled his life.

To make it worse the lecturer had then painted a portrait of a single mother in those conditions and they might as well have been describing Dean. He hadn't always appreciated the things that Dean had done for him when he had been very young, but he had gradually come to realise it. Things like Dean going without food so that he didn't have to. Later he had payed closer attention to the food situation himself and eaten smaller portions when they were running low, insisting that he didn't want any more so that Dean would at least eat something. Thinking of Dean as a single mother might have been almost funny if it hadn't been so depressing. He dropped that class later the same day.

Money was also a problem he was going to have to deal with soon. He had no idea how he was going to pay for the apartment. His scholarship would pay for his share of the rent but it wouldn't pay for Dean. It was a good thing he had some money set aside from being frugal with his maintenance allowance and from the job he had taken over the Christmas break, but that wouldn't last that long.

Christmas had been the other thing that had made him miss Dean even more. Christmas for the Winchesters had never been the sort of extravaganza that you saw on television but Dean had always done his best to make it special, even if that had sometimes involved stealing presents or decorations from neighbours. Spending Christmas without him for the first time had been awful.

It wasn't just without Dean, he had been completely alone. Almost everyone at Stanford had gone back to visit family for Christmas so the university had closed most of the dorms and he had to move into the international dorm. Most of the international students that had stayed seemed to be Chinese. They seemed nice enough, but they mostly just hung out with themselves and spoke to each other in Chinese so it was difficult to get to know them. Eventually he'd given up trying and just spent most of the time in his room by himself.

He got a job waiting tables at a local restaurant mostly just to give himself something to do. That they had also paid fairly well because of difficulties finding staff over Christmas was useful, but not really something he had thought about at the time. It kept him busy and kept his mind occupied so he couldn't think about other things.

He had seriously considered calling Bobby or Pastor Jim or even Dean, but it felt like that would have been giving in, admitting that he couldn't live by himself. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn't hear Dean talking to him.

"Huh, what?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You'd better be paying more attention to the road than you are to me."

"I always pay more attention to the road, it's much more interesting."

Dean just flipped him off. "Whatever. Anyway, I was asking if you had warned Nick about Dad."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll take that as a no then. Dad said he'd go on ahead and meet us at the apartment, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, Nick is also supposed to be meeting us at the apartment, which means he is going to meet Dad. By himself."

"Oh. Crap."

"Exactly, 'cause you know Dad is going to interrogate him."

Sam fished his phone out of his jeans and handed it to Dean. Dean realised he didn't know Nick's surname but it turned out not to matter as Sam didn't have all that many contacts in his phone. Nick Conti was the only choice so he selected the number and hit dial. He wasn't completely sure about living with Nick, but the only wheelchair accessible apartment the university had available on short notice was a three bedroom one and it was better someone he had at least met to a total stranger. Nick had seemed nice enough when he met him and it seemed like he was a good friend to Sam. Hopefully he'd survive meeting Dad.

* * *

Nick watched from the door of the apartment as John Winchester stepped out of his truck. He had to admit that John did have something of an intimidating aura about him. He was shorter than Sam but more heavily built, and knowing what he did Nick doubted that any of it was middle age spread. He wondered whether John had chosen the big black truck for the extra intimidation factor or whether it had just been organic. He appreciated Dean giving him a heads-up and honestly wouldn't be too surprised if John was a bit overprotective given that his son had just been paralyzed. He wasn't overly worried though. Lots of people warned about their parents being overprotective and he had always found that so long as you were pleasant and polite it was ok, even if you wanted to curse up a storm afterwards. Admittedly he did give Dean's warning more credence than most, especially as he knew very little about John. Whereas Sam had shared anecdotes about Dean occasionally, enough to get a crude picture of him, Nick struggled to think of a time he had ever spoken about his Dad.

Determined to put his best foot forward Nick stepped out of the door and greeted John warmly. John's reply was polite enough, even if Nick did have to fight not to roll his eyes at the classically macho too tight handshake. Nick showed him around the apartment, being careful to point out the wheelchair friendly features like the roll in shower, or the lower section of work surface in the kitchen that doubled as a breakfast table.

Nick could tell that John was listening attentively and taking the apartment in carefully as they walked, or at least he put on a very good appearance of doing so. At the same time, he continuously asked apparently off hand questions about Nick and his personal life. At first it was pretty standard paranoid parent stuff and Nick politely answered the questions. The questions started getting more and more probing though, prying into his life far more than John had any right to know about, even with what he did hunting monsters. Nick did his best to provide minimal answers, but it was starting to get quite trying.

They were done with touring the apartment and sat down in the lounge. It was a good thing that the apartment had come furnished. Admittedly burnt orange would definitely not have been his choice for the colour of the sofa, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He knew that Sam and Dean wouldn't be able to afford to buy furniture and he couldn't really do a whole apartment. They could probably get a blanket or something to cover the sofa with. He breathed a slight sigh of relief thinking that the interrogation was over, but it seemed he had spoken too soon.

The interrogation part might have been over, but now John started giving him orders about what he should and shouldn't do. Some of it made sense, like the general admonition to do what Dean said if something supernatural happened. After all, they knew far more about it and were much more experienced than he was. The fact that John phrased everything as an order though was extremely aggravating. He also noted that it was always do what Dean or he said, never Sam.

The final straw came when John, apparently satisfied, grudgingly said that he thought Nick was ok and that he was letting him live with his boys. As if Sam and Dean weren't adults who were perfectly capable of making their own decisions. As if he hadn't been living with Sam for six months already without hearing a peep from John in that time. He was incredibly grateful when he heard Sam and Dean pull up outside because he wasn't sure how much longer he could bite his tongue.

When Sam and Dean walked in, well Sam walked and Dean rolled, they did so to see Nick glaring daggers at John's back whenever he turned away. Dean gave Sam a small nudge and a look that said, 'I'll handle Dad, you talk to Nick.' Dean easily got John to start giving him a tour of the apartment, repeating what Nick had told him, while Sam gestured Nick outside.

"Sorry you had to put up with that, Nick."

Nick shook his head, trying to dissipate the frustration and blew out a deep breath. "It's ok, Sam. I was kind of expecting the inquisition, it was 'John Winchester's 101 do's and don'ts of dealing with the supernatural', most of which seem to begin and end with 'just do what I say' that really got to me."

Sam gave a small chuckle. "If he gave you the lecture that means he's decided that you're trustworthy at least."

"I'm just glad I managed to get through it without hitting him. It was so tempting."

"I'm glad too, I'd rather not have Dad killing my friends. Try not to get too annoyed by it, I'm sure he'll be gone soon and it's just his way of showing he cares."

"Cares about one of you at least," Nick muttered under his breath as they turned to go back inside. He saw Sam flinch and realised he'd said that out loud.

"Shit. Sorry Sam, I didn't mean that."

It was something he had suspected for a very long time. He had mentioned it to Pastor Jim before, but he had carefully side-stepped it, saying that Dad loved them both, he just showed it in different ways. He had never been able to shake the feeling that Pastor Jim might have just been saying it to avoid hurting his feelings though or because he was friends with Dad too and didn't want to cause any family strife. Maybe it was even that he didn't want to see it. Sam certainly didn't. That Nick, who had only ever met Dad once, could pick up on it so quickly was galling though.

Sam didn't look round, not trusting himself to keep a neutral expression. "No, it's ok Nick. I accepted that Dean was Dad's favourite a long time ago."

Nick was appalled. Whatever he said the slumped posture of Sam's shoulders clearly said that he hadn't accepted it, and he shouldn't have to. No parent should have obvious favourites. He didn't care that he would almost certainly end up getting his ass handed to him, now he really wanted to punch John Winchester in the face.

He felt Sam's heavy hand on his shoulder preventing him charging back into the apartment. As tall as he was it was easy to forget sometimes that Sam was probably the strongest guy he knew. They had been at a bar a few months ago and some drunk idiot had been bothering their friend Becky. They all tried to get him to leave peacefully, but after the guy continued to refuse to take no for an answer, Sam had just effortlessly picked him up, walked across the bar and handed the guy to the bouncer like it was nothing. Sam didn't flaunt his strength though and often seemed uncomfortable with being so tall.

"Just leave it, Nick."

"You shouldn't just put up with it," Nick said, angrily.

"I didn't," Sam bit out with an uncharacteristically hard edge to his voice as he spun Nick to face him and pushed him against the wall, "I walked out and let the door slam behind me to come here."

He had always wondered why Sam said so little about his family, especially when he so clearly cared about his brother. Though that also made him wonder.

"Where was Dean in all this?" he asked cautiously.

Sam's shoulders slumped again. "Leaving Dean was the hardest part. He was always getting caught between me and Dad and he hated it. It was part of why I left really. The arguments were just getting worse and worse and I thought that if I left, Dean wouldn't have to put up with it anymore. I had hoped he might come with me, but deep down I think I knew he wouldn't. He was always more invested in the life anyway. He actually has some memories of our Mom."

"Huh?"

"I told you what we do, but not why. When I was six months old a demon broke into our house and murdered our Mom. She burned to death above my crib."

"God, that's awful."

Sam just shrugged. "I don't have any memories of her. Dean does. Not that many, he was only four, but enough to have a picture of her in his mind. Most people who get into hunting do so for similar reasons, as a quest for vengeance and answers."

"That's why your Dad does it?"

Sam nodded. "He's been hunting that demon ever since," he gave a short, slightly bitter laugh, "I sometimes thought it was the only thing he cared about, not me or Dean. Either way I think Dean's accident did open his eyes a bit and he really has been trying since then. He actually told me he was proud that I got into Stanford back at the hospital."

"Sam," Nick said very carefully, "You know you sound like an abuse victim, right? Making excuses that it'll be different this time."

Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Yeah, I know, and I know I shouldn't even care what he thinks anymore with how he's treated us over the years. This isn't about him or me though. Dean needs both of us right now, so I can suck it up and cope with it."

Nick shook his head in disbelief. "Man, you really are an amazing brother, you know that?"

"You wouldn't do the same for Andrea?"

"Hell no. Andrea is an incredibly annoying pain in the ass."

Sam laughed, a real laugh this time. "Yeah, Dean can bug the hell out of me sometimes. Believe me, you'll find out just how annoying he can be to live with, but he's still my brother and I wouldn't trade him for anything.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Andrea might be an annoying big sister, but she's my annoying big sister."

"Exactly. Are you ready to go back inside?"

"I kind of feel like it ought to be me asking you that."

"Shall we then?"

"Sure. Just, y'know, tell me if you're having trouble at any point ok? I know about all the supernatural stuff now so you don't have to hide anything from me."

"Yeah, I will, thanks Nick."

He wasn't convinced that Sam really would talk to him if he was having problems, but other than letting him know he was there for him there wasn't much else he could do. As soon as they stepped over the threshold and Sam spotted the sofa he started talking about that and then the apartment, firmly putting the conversation behind them.

* * *

 **Author Note:** It took longer than expected, but they're finally out of the hospital! Hope everyone had a good Christmas, or at least better than Sam's. Incidentally, timeline wise this is mid-January 2002, shortly before Dean's 23rd birthday.


	6. Chapter 6

"Happy birthday, Dean!" Sam called out as Dean rolled into the kitchen.

Honestly with everything that happened recently he had pretty much forgotten that it was his birthday today. Of course, Sam would remember though.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean said with a smile, "Do I smell pancakes?"

It was the scent of cooking wafting through the apartment that had drawn Dean inexorably to the kitchen. The smell of pancakes was unmistakeable and mouth-watering.

"You certainly do," Nick said from the stove, "Sam told me you like pancakes. I hope that wasn't just a ploy to get me to make them because he wanted some."

Dean's smile grew wider. "I do, though Sammy really loves his pancakes too."

"There's no reason I can't enjoy them too, and it's Sam," Sam said, affecting an air of complete innocence, "Besides, Nick makes really good pancakes."

"Grandma's secret recipe or something?" Dean asked as he manoeuvred his chair next to the table. He frowned slightly as the left wheel squeaked and made a mental note to give it some oil later. It turned out looking after a wheelchair was not so different from looking after his Baby.

"I suppose you could say it's my secret recipe. It's something Andrea and I used to do with my Mom all the time. We would experiment with adding all kinds of random ingredients. Some of the results were disgusting – trust me, jelly beans in pancakes are not a good idea – but some of them worked really well, and this is one that we refined over the years."

Dean couldn't help smiling, one of his few cherished memories with his own mother was 'helping' her make a cake for Dad's birthday. That had been not long before Sam was born. He glanced over at his brother and noticed the slightly wistful look on Sam's face, which tinged his own happy memory slightly with sadness that Sam had never got to experience that. They'd had lots of lessons on how to forage for food in the forest and the like from Dad, those sorts of outdoorsy things were one of the few parts of their life that Sam had enjoyed, but it wasn't quite the same.

His thoughts were interrupted as Nick finished shuffling the pancakes onto plates and set them down on the table.

"Dig in, and let me know what you think."

Dean didn't need to be told twice and started funnelling pancakes into his mouth. They had been living together for about a week now but Nick still found that he was amazed by the rate at which Dean could make food disappear, and the apparently bottomless pit it disappeared into. It was almost mesmerising to watch.

"These are really good," Dean said, or at least that is what he tried to say. The reality was rather badly distorted by a mouthful of pancakes.

"Dean, we know they're good, but I'd rather not see them after they've been half chewed in your mouth," Sam said, wrinkling his nose slightly.

In response Dean stuck out his tongue with a bunch of half chewed pancake and Sam covered his face with his hand.

"I swear Dean, sometimes I think you're three rather than twenty-three."

Dean just grinned, shrugged and went back to inhaling his pancakes. He enjoyed messing around, and if it had the side effect that Sam had forgotten about not having been able to make pancakes with Mom, then all the better.

When they were done with breakfast Sam opened one of the kitchen cupboards and pulled out a large box wrapped in newspaper and handed it to Dean. Sam smiled at the genuine surprise on his face.

"Sammy, you shouldn't have."

"This is from me and Nick."

"Mostly Sam, I just helped," Nick interjected. He had been somewhat bemused by the newspaper wrapping, but Sam had explained that it was a tradition for the two of them to wrap presents in newspaper. It was also, as he pointed out, much more environmentally friendly.

Dean tore off the newspaper to reveal a shoebox.

"I know you prefer boots, and we thought these might be better than your old ones," Sam said as Dean opened the box. The old sneakers that Dean had been wearing since leaving the hospital were also rather dilapidated. They had really needed replacing even before the hospital, but it wasn't like Dean wore them often and shoes were expensive. Aside from underwear it was also basically the only item of clothing they ever bought new. Probably because of his time in Vietnam Dad had always insisted that they had to look after their feet.

He took out one of the boots and loosened the laces. Unlike his old boots on these ones the laces went all the way down to the toe, like on his sneakers, and most of the upper fastening points were hooks rather than eyelets. It made it a lot easier to get them as loose as he needed for his uncooperative feet and it was only slightly more difficult to get on than his sneakers.

"They're great, Sammy," Dean said with a smile, seeing Sam looking at him expectantly. He might still be stuck in the chair but it made him feel a bit more like himself again.

"I'm glad you like them," Sam said, sounding slightly relieved, "I've got a class to go to now, but I'll be back by lunchtime before Dad gets here."

Both of them had been rather surprised that Dad was going to be there. He had said that he would, but neither of them had actually expected him to keep his word, any more than he ever had the countless previous birthdays, Christmases and other holidays that he'd missed. Sam still wasn't completely convinced and he suspected Dean wasn't either, but they had spoken to him yesterday and he had even given them a time to expect him, which in itself was rather out of character so they had some hope he might really turn up.

* * *

Sam had just got back from his class and was running through his various contingency plans in case Dad didn't show up or something went wrong when there was knock at the apartment door. He frowned slightly, it was still almost an hour before Dad was supposed to get there and he was never early for anything that wasn't a hunt. As such when he peered through the peep-hole and saw his Dad standing there he was dumb-founded.

"Sam," John greeted warmly, clapping his younger son on the shoulder.

He was so surprised by Dad arriving early that he almost didn't notice that Dad was carrying a walking stick. It must be a present for Dean. He supressed a grimace, he knew Dean didn't like being reminded about not being able to walk and while it was a nice-looking stick, ebony with a brass handle, Dean wasn't going to appreciate it. Inappropriate presents had been one of the things he'd worried about, but there wasn't a good way to plan for that as he couldn't know what it might be. Unfortunately, he didn't have any time to do anything about it either, because he heard the wheels on Dean's chair as he came through from the kitchen.

"Happy birthday, son!" John called, gently moving Sam to one side and stepping around him.

"Thanks, Dad," Dean replied, smiling, "Whatcha got there?"

"Here, catch," John said, tossing the stick to Dean, who caught it deftly.

He turned it over a few times, and Sam could tell he was having to put a lot of effort into maintaining a neutral expression.

"Umm, thanks Dad, I guess I'll need one of these eventually," Dean managed half-heartedly.

Sam cringed inwardly slightly. He glanced over at John to see how he was reacting and was surprised to see what looked like a slightly mischievous grin. He'd been hoping for obliviousness and bracing for anger, now he felt confused.

"Try giving the handle a good yank."

Sam looked back at Dean as he took hold of the shaft of the cane in one hand and the handle in the other and pulled sharply. It looked like the handle separated from the shaft slightly and he saw Dean's eyes widen. Then Dean slowly continued pulling the handle away from the shaft, revealing a blade about the length of his forearm. It wasn't just a walking stick after all, it was a sword-cane.

"Wow, this is awesome. Thanks Dad," Dean said enthusiastically with a big smile on his face.

Sam couldn't help rolling his eyes slightly while smiling broadly himself. Of course Dean would be excited to be given weaponry. He glanced over at Dad again and saw him grinning himself. He hadn't seen that kind of playfulness from Dad since they had been very little. John looked over at him, caught his eye and bent down to pick up something he must have dropped by the door when he came in. It looked like a leather bag.

"Here, Sam, this is for you." John's voice was soft, almost tentative, and rather unlike what Sam was used to.

"For me?" Sam queried, taking the bag.

"Consider it a late Christmas present."

The bag was a smart, brown leather one. As Sam looked at it, it occurred to him that it looked very much like the sort of bag that a lawyer might take to court to keep their case notes in.

"Thanks, Dad, it's great."

"So, how would you boys like to watch some basketball this afternoon?"

Sam relaxed, a quiet afternoon watching basketball would be fine.

"Sure Dad, I think the Warriors are playing the… Suns…" he trailed off.

"Are those tickets?" Dean asked incredulously, looking at the papers John had extracted from his jacket pocket.

"Yep," John said, smiling broadly, "Warriors versus the Suns, today."

"How?" was all Sam could say in response.

"Called in an old favour," John said cryptically, "even got us in the wheelchair access section."

A few hours later and neither Sam nor Dean could quite believe that they were sitting in the Oracle arena in Oakland waiting for the match to start. The Warriors walked out onto the court and a huge roar went up from their side of the arena.

They were all still riding the high when they got back to the apartment. It had been a great game and they were all a bit hoarse from cheering. Sam and Dean went inside, but John stopped in the door, holding the door frame with one calloused hand.

"Well, I hope you had a good time, boys."

"We did," Sam said enthusiastically.

"Yeah, that was awesome," Dean added.

"Great," John said smiling, "Anyway, I just want to let you know that I'm going to head off on a hunt tomorrow."

Sam's face fell and he bit his tongue to avoid saying something he might regret. He couldn't believe Dad was abandoning them again already.

"Where are you headed?" Dean asked, neutrally.

"Just outside Albuquerque."

"Do you know what it is?"

"Not completely sure yet, there's an elderly couple that were found stabbed to death with most of the contents of their kitchen knife drawer, no signs of forced entry and no prints or anything on the blades."

While Dean and John were speaking Sam realised that Dad had been with them all day. He must have known about this hunt since at least yesterday, maybe before, but rather than just taking off like he would have done in the past he stayed for Dean's birthday. He had said even when they were at the hospital that he wasn't going to stop hunting and if he was going to make more of an effort to around for special occasions then Sam couldn't really ask for much more.

"Could be a poltergeist," Sam offered as an olive branch.

John nodded and his grip on the doorframe loosened slightly, "Could be."

"Do you know how long you'll be?" Dean asked.

"Not sure, depends if something else shows up after this. I'll keep you updated. In the meantime, Bobby will be coming down next week to help protect this place against the supernatural."

Sam frowned slightly, "Haven't we already done that?"

John gave a wry smile, "Not to the standards Bobby can. When it comes to defensive measures Bobby is second to none. I always concentrated more on the offensive stuff. Anyway, you two look after other while I'm gone."

It still wasn't quite the traditional 'watch out for Sammy', but at least it was reciprocal this time, so Dean would take what he could get. "We will Dad, you stay safe out there."

"I will."

He turned to go, but Sam called out at the last moment. "If you need us to do any research, just let us know."

John turned back briefly with a smile. "I'll keep that in mind." Then he strode over to his truck and pulled off into the night.

* * *

Sam and Dean were sitting on the sofa. Dean had his feet up on the Ottoman, it didn't really make any difference to him as he was still pretty numb, his right leg especially, but the doctors had said he ought to keep his legs raised when he could to avoid the blood pooling in his feet. There was some old film on the television but neither of them were really watching it. Nick had already gone to bed and really they ought to do the same soon themselves, they had just been too amped up when they got back from the game to go straight to sleep.

As Sam lolled, half asleep, next to him Dean relived the day in his head. It had been so long since they'd had a day like that with Dad, just father and sons and nothing hunting related in sight. He suspected Sam might not really remember actually having fun with their Dad. Once Sam found out about hunting those fun occasions had died away, and he'd only been eight then, so it was good to see Sam having fun too, maybe seeing that Dad wasn't all bad. He could tell that the two of them were still treading carefully around each other, but that was a big step up from perpetual screaming matches.

He yawned loudly and stretched – definitely time to get to bed.

"Dean," Sam said earnestly, suddenly sounding much more awake.

"What?" Instantly Dean was more alert as well, glancing around to check for any signs of danger.

"Your foot twitched."

"My what did what?" Tiredness and a sudden shot of adrenaline were not helping Dean take things in properly.

"Your left foot twitched, when you stretched. Not that much, but it definitely moved."

"Oh." Now Dean was staring at his foot as it was some kind of strange animal that he was unsure of how it would react. To a certain extent that was true, after all this would be the first time since his injury that he'd had any signs of movement.

"Can you do it again?"

"I don't know." Dean frowned and focussed on his foot, trying to make it do any sort of movement. Nothing happened immediately, but eventually as he continued to try and think about it his foot did move. It was a small uncontrolled jerk, but definitely there, and after having nothing at all for over a week he was ecstatic to get anything at all.

* * *

 **Author note:** Sorry about the long break, I hope this chapter is worth the wait. I'm aware the earlier chapters might be a bit heavy on the angst so I thought something a bit lighter would be a nice change of pace. I'm still feeling my way around the somewhat reformed John so let me know if you think it's working.


End file.
